She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature.
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